Ubi Caritas et Amor, Deus Ibi Est

In my recent posts, I fear that I am not conveying enough gratitude. It is easy for me, a deep thinker, to be too concerned about portraying the painful and challenging details of this life in attempts to capture the realities of it. Yes, I am living in a broken country, caring for many wounded and traumatized children and witnessing desperation and tragedy and suffering. But for as many moments that could give cause for despair, there are infinitely more reminders of hope and of a Creator that cares for His little children. We are not always conscious of or willing to see these, but they are present nonetheless.

The priest talked at mass today about suffering, and how in suffering is evidence of great love. And we sang the words in the title of this post – where charity and love are found, God is there. So in suffering, God is present. In each heartbreak, there is still hope. In each child's eyes, hope shines. In the joy of a terrific sense of humor, there is hope. A coworker who has been here for many years told me just yesterday that when we as foreigners are able to laugh with the people of Haiti, we have entered a new level of intimacy with them. And this morning, the nurses and I spent literally hours laughing together, gaining new understandings of each other and flying through the cultural barriers that still stood between us. As I gain a better grasp of Creole, I am continually encouraged by the staff members at FWAL, and even teased by one of our drivers, who challenges me to learn more, but who paid me a very kind compliment when he said, “We will miss you when you leave, because we know you came to serve us and serve the children.” And so I wish to share a few of the things for which I am grateful, and because of which I was given pause many times today, sitting in disbelief that I have been given the undeserved favor of this experience.

Stanley, a bright light in my life every day.

 We completed HIV and Hepatitis B testing on all of the children in the FWAL program last week. Out of 182 children, none of them are HIV positive, and only two are positive for Hepatitis B. Those two are currently asymptomatic. This is a great blessing and protection for our children, in a country where HIV and Hepatitis B transmission is elevated. There is hope.

I was privileged yesterday to witness the first steps of an amputee as he walked with his new prosthesis. A group of American surgical volunteers was in the area at the time, along with a small contingent of NPH volunteers and employees. He walked tentatively, then looked up at his audience as we clapped and chanted our approval. There is hope.

There were 21 abandoned children living in the hospital, several significantly disabled, but several healthy. They have been left by mothers for unknown reasons. The challenge of raising a child with disabilities is greatly multiplied here, and many impoverished parents simply cannot face the difficulty. (Several do, and those little ones are the grateful recipients of one of NPFS's ministries here, where they attend classes and physical therapy). One little guy, Yvens, whose mother died of AIDS and tuberculosis many months ago, was the smiliest little man, verbal and trying his utmost to meet the developmental milestones for his age. He was a buddy of Dani's, and she was dedicated to helping him learn to walk during her daily visits to the room. The children, once declared officially abandoned, wait and wait and wait for placement in a home or orphanage. Many programs, including ours, are filled to capacity, so this is a very long and difficult process. However, much to our surprise last weekend, Yvens was placed in a home and was finally able to leave the hospital! One less child living alone. There is hope.

I am blessed to serve with some extraordinary people. This past Tuesday, we held a goodbye party for my roommate Sr. Kathleen, a religious sister who has lived and worked here for the last 14 months. A vocational decision prompted her return to the States earlier than she anticipated, and it was an emotional several days as she packed up her Haitian life. Sr. Kathleen was a living example of God's heart for the children here. She is a clinical social worker, and she worked tirelessly with the children at Ste. Anne, coordinating activity groups, educating the staff, being a daily presence at the home and loving the kids with a gentle firmness. She was active in the school during the last year as well, bringing characters and a therapeutic eye to her work. Whenever I would ride with her to Ste. Anne, a chorus of voices would arise from the porch yelling her name as we arrived. Tuesday was a very special day, as the children she loved so much showed their love for her by singing special songs, dancing and admiring her with hugs and kisses. The staff honored her as well, sharing their hearts and gratitude for her mentorship. There was much to celebrate, as she has brought light and grace to Haiti, telling the children it's ok to cry and express emotions. (Emotional expression is frowned upon in this culture). She met regularly with a few children with significant histories, assisting them in embracing the challenges they have been given. She lives in hope.

Sr. Kathleen sitting with some of her beloved babies at her goodbye.

One of her perfect parting gifts for the kids - a new playhouse!

 I noticed ti Erline my first day here. I have talked of her many times. She lived for months with chronic watery diarrhea, in sadness, with significant malnutrition and fatigue. I have been praying for her and reaching out to her during each visit, hoping for answers, which as we know do not come quickly. In the past month, we have gotten small glimpses of happiness from her, and she has demonstrated increased energy and started laughing more! She loves the daily glass of Pediasure, and now refuses regular milk! (Uh oh...). She is sometimes still not so sure about me, but we spent a precious afternoon together at Sr. Kathleen's party. I showed her a picture of herself on my camera, and that was it! Smart little one that she is, she figured out how to look back at all of the previous pictures, and pointed at herself and me, then sighed happily as she viewed photos of her housemates. I wore my hair down, and she stroked and played with it. She shreiked in happiness as we sat watching the festivities. There is hope.

Precious ti Erline - the smiles come more quickly now!

The staff at St. Louis and Ste. Anne care deeply for the children in their charge. They sacrifice hugely, working 11-day shifts, living day and night with the kids, essentially raising them and being their accessible parental figures. The children are happy, active and engaged with life, and the quiet and challenged children are noticed just as well as the loud and well-adjusted ones. The madames and mettres have embraced me, with one of them asking if she could be my mother! (Don't worry, mom.) They patiently sit with me and talk as I ask questions with my incorrect words and grammar. They smile when I remember their names and remember the names of the children. (I'm determined to know all 182 names soon – I'm getting there!) I am continually amazed at the patience and tenderness I observe, and the enthusiastic energy which is present in the faces and words of the staff. Just today I ate for the first time at St. Louis instead of returning here to the hospital for lunch, and I am kicking myself for waiting so long! The beans and rice were absolutely delicious and spice-free. The cook anxiously asked if I am planning to eat on-site Monday - She loves to serve hope.

Four of the children at St. Louis were diagnosed with heart murmurs on their initial admission physicals. With no training in cardiac anomalies, the physicians here (and even visiting pediatric physicians) panic and refer for immediate follow-up. As I have learned in my few short months here, many children are on unnecessary heart medications due to poor diagnostic capabilities, lack of training and inaccurate echo readings. So I jumped at the opportunity for all of the St. Louis kids to be seen by a visiting American pediatric cardiologist and echo tech this week! All four of them were seen, and they are all completely normal! What a relief! And, perhaps equally as important, they behaved perfectly for the doctor and were very cooperative. There is hope.

I was able to meet and sit with a 10-year-old end-stage cardiac patient yesterday. She has spent two months in the ICU at St. Damien, and has not attended school for four years due to her heart problem. Tuesday evening's echo confirmed that there is no surgical intervention possible for her condition, and her disease has progressed to the point of significant compromise. She was clearly frightened yesterday, and as we sat and talked I thought of the interventions I would be doing were she in the States. But there is an acceptance of God's will here which I pray to have, and she and her mother sat peacefully, resting in the good moments and bravely attempting a walk around the hospital. She smiled as she talked about her favorite things and asked me to bring her notebooks for her brothers so they could attend school. In her physical weakness, she thought of others. There is definite sadness in this story, but there is still good to report. She has a mother who has been at her bedside the entirety of her hospital stay, and the visiting cardiologist determined that she does not benefit enough from the added oxygen to merit her staying in the hospital any longer. And, miraculously, a terminal care nurse has been found who will be able to visit her at home. So my sadness at the brevity of our time together pales in comparison to the gratitude I feel in knowing that she will be able to live her final days with her family. She will soon know the complete healing that only heaven can bring, resting in the hands of Hope.